portraits

Portraits

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Portraits, originally uploaded by lazygirl.

Lula Gets Some Air

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lula_air.jpg, originally uploaded by lazygirl.

Last corgi picture. At least for the next hour.

All I Got Was This Lousy Rave Braid Thing-y

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Well I did it. I survived my 20th high school reunion. And in one piece and with relatively little hangover, which was a miracle since I was mixing my liquor like an amateur. Although I did have a little trouble making coffee the next morning at the Brekhus'. Josh kindly reminded me that putting the coffee pot under the filter was an essential, if less than glamorous, step. The night started off well with Jenny B opening a bottle of Veuve Cliquot that belonged, of course, to her parents. Nothing symbolizes regressing back to high school like stealing mom and dad's liquor. And our friend Chuck had hoofed it all the way from Michigan at the last minute and that was a welcome surprise. Not only would the ladies have a handsome escort to the ball, but there would be at least one interesting person to talk to (not including the usual suspects of course).

So we all got dressed and left our husbands with ten children. Yep. 10. At least they had a big house for them all to run around in. Josh only had one to look after and he can't walk, so I figured the odds were working in his favor. And I only got one. "where are the...?" phone call from him all night. What a superstar!

We arrived at the Four Points Sheraton Hotel (nothing but the best!) at 7:00 and I almost instantly thought that coming was a HUGE mistake and how the hell was I going to get out of this one. About two minutes later the heel on my left boot broke. It was not a big enough reason to leave, only something that annoyed me all night because I had to be sure not to lean back in order to keep the heel on. That's what I get for wearing high heels for the first time in my life.

There's not much to tell about the evening itself. People looked really good and this pissed me off enormously. I was expecting a bunch of people to have put on weight (like yours truly); be on tons of prescription medicine (ditto); and have existential angst (no seriously, our class was not, on the whole, bright enough to even know what the word 'angst' means, never mind 'existential'). While we were driving there everyone talked about their crushes and who they made out with in high school, wondering if their old flame would be there. I kept thinking how glad I was that I never really dated anyone from our high school. Just as I was sitting down to dinner and thinking how relieved I was, the guy I made out with freshman year walked up to our table and sat down. And the Alzheimer's has officially set in.

One of the highlights of the evening was watching Val kick it up on the dance floor. Only eight weeks after delivering her second child, she looked amazing and was dancing up a storm to celebrate the fact that she wasn't lugging a human being around anymore (well at least not in her body). She was probably also glad not to have her 2 year-old hanging on her for attention, while the newborn is attached to her boob. God knows that alone is enough to make you dance like a maniac.

The person who I thought looked the best was a woman that I did not even remember. She was, of course, someone who was low-profile and I thought she was now stunning. Looking back at her senior portrait she was beautiful even then, but in the European, interesting way that, let's face it, teenagers just don't get. And frankly, the 'popular girls' had great bodies and all, but they were as skanky as ever. There were some people who impressed me as being warmer and more genuine than I remember and there were a few people who had good hearts, but were a bit of a mess in high school, that I was happy to see had gotten it together and are now flourishing. It was an interesting event from a sociological standpoint, but as Lisa so succinctly put it, "I expected it to be more fun".

Sad and Mad

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This morning started off so nicely. I walked to my pilates class and did some exercises that finally made my back stop feeling like it was on fire. I was walking home afterwards and I saw a young boy with a puppy. Ah, boys and dogs. So I crossed the street so that I could maybe pet the puppy. I realized that the boy was trying to train the pup and then I heard him say SIT and LAY DOWN one right after the other. I wanted to tell the boy that the poor dog could not possibly understand what he wants if he hollers out command after command. Then the boy did something that brought my heart into my mouth. He hit the dog and then hit it again and again. I ran over and told the boy that he should never hit a dog and he told me I should go fuck myself and it was his damn dog and he could do whatever he wanted. I asked him how much he would like to be beaten, realizing quickly that this was probably the genesis of the problem.

So here I was stuck. The boy was never going to hear what I had to say. I briefly thought of taking the dog from him, but had the feeling I would get in big trouble if I did this. But I swear that little pit bull puppy's life flashed before me. And it sunk my heart and made me full of rage and sadness. I asked everyone I could on the street if they knew where the boy lived, to no avail. So I came home and immediately called Animal Control. They promised to send someone out to try to find the boy in the neighborhood, but I must admit that I am not highly optimistic. The woman from Animal Control also informed me that it's a good thing that I did not take the dog because I could of gotten arrested for assault of a minor. Imagine! What a crazy, fucked up world we live in. She told me that all I could do was what I was doing. I felt so POWERLESS. Why do we treat each other so badly? After Katrina I thought my feelings on the evil of humanity could not possibly sink any lower. But this morning they did.

I keep picturing the face of that little puppy. And I weep.

< 24 Hours

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In less than 24 hours I will be at my twentieth high school reunion. Twenty years! I feel so damn old. I wonder if anyone will still be wearing an ACDC tee-shirt or listening to Journey. I wonder how many men will be bald. Okay so here's where I admit that I was actually a cheerleader. Yep me. Hard to believe and not something I admit lightly, but it's true. In some warped teenage desire to fit in I decided that this was the way to go. Boy was I wrong. At least I rebelled by constantly being out of step with everyone else as illustrated below:

I know that i am in the minority in that I am still close to my friends from high school. Here we are at our graduation (except Val and JVH who are missing in the pic):

We are all going to the reunion sans spouses (who are staying at our friend Jenny's parents house and taking care of all of the kids). Afterwards we are spending the night at 66 Winship for old time's sake. Except this time we won't get busted for drinking, unless it's by our children.

So as of Sunday I should have some funny stuff to report and some pictures of our aging class of 1985. Hopefully, I will not make a total drunken ass of myself. But if I were you, I wouldn't bet money on it.

New Mother Celibacy

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I met with my mom's group today and the topic was relationships and sex. We spent two hours talking about relationships. When the time was just about up I asked "So, is anyone having sex?" and everyone looked at me and said, "Nope, not so much" and "Who has the time?" Ah, the joy of motherhood.

Fat Girl Shopping Sucks

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I had to go shopping for something to wear to my high school reunion, since I have no clothes that fit me anymore, with the exception of maternity pants and that's just too damned depressing. So I went to my favorite store where everybody knows my name and that is Target. After Ben was born I would get so lonely and bored that I would go to Target practically every day just to get out of the house. Outside of the womb I think it is Ben's favorite comfort place to be. The fluorescent lighting and smell of stale, greasy snack food will probably be his first memory. So I start with the larger sized pants because I know that I do not want to set myself up for disappointment. I figure that I will be safe and go with the biggest size I could be and one down from there. I quickly discover that I am TOO FAT for the BIGGEST SIZE I COULD BE. I brace myself. It took every ounce of strength I had not to go directly to the ice cream and chocolate isle and drown my self-disgust in ten pounds of sugar. I reminded myself that this was how I got in this mess in the first place. The big size was slightly too tight so I just went to the rack and bought the next size up without trying them on. I put them in my cart and told myself that if these did not fit, I just wasn't going to the damn reunion.

The other day I was reading one of my new favorite blogs, which is Suburban Bliss. She was writing about body issues and I really related to a great deal of what she said as did many other readers according to her comments. Now, I realize body image issues affect many women (and men) and that whether you are a size 2 or 22 is irrelevant. The mind is a powerful thing. But after I read the above mentioned entry I looked through her photo album. And I gasped. This woman is THIN! I felt so betrayed. It was like finding out that Laurie Notaro is thin and I swear to God if she is, I am going to kill someone.

So today I tried the pants on and they fit. So I guess I have to go to the reunion. But I will go to my grave before I tell ANYONE what size they are.

Welcome to the Working Week

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This week I have started to go back to work and I am finding the whole balance thing trying to say the least. I am supposed to be working part time, but it's hard to tell my clients that I am available only on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Clients don't like to hear about your problems. And who can blame them? But, as I found out this morning, it is tough to design a brochure and entertain a 6 month-old simultaneously. If I put Ben on my lap he decides that his input is vital and begins to madly tap away on the keyboard. He is already a talented, if demanding creative director. His ideas are a bit avant garde, but he is quite the visionary. Somehow I doubt most of my clients will appreciate my new assistant and his ability to slow down, if enrich, the design process. My heart goes out to working parents everywhere. The balance is hard to find. I particularly feel for people who hate their jobs. At least I can honestly say that I like what I do and that makes me incredibly lucky. And every time I watch 'The Office' on TV I thank God that I work at home. But don't worry, I am paying through the nose in art school loans and may have them paid off by the time I'm 85. So if you hate your job, but are debt free, we're probably even.

Zulma

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zulma.jpg This is Zulma. She is Ben's babysitter and my savior. We all love her in my family and argue often about who loves her more. And she loves us too, even though we are totally crazy.

Sleepless in Berkeley

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It's 1:45 in the morning and I am UP. I hate insomnia. There are few guiltless pleasures in my life and sleep has always been one of them. So when it is interrupted (like for the past 6 months) I am an unhappy camper. Yesterday Ben started his childcare share. Few things seem to strike at the heart of so many people I know like the word 'childcare' does. Fo me so much is wrapped up in it. There's my feeling torn between wanting to be with Ben and wanting to have some creative and intellectual fulfillment. (And trust me, some days the term 'intellectual' is stretching it.) I know that when I am happy that I will be a much better parent for Ben, but finding someone to take good care of him is a whole other ballgame.

With the dogs it's easy. Open that crate door. Lure them in with cookies. Give them water. Shut the crate door. Turn on NPR for them to listen to (I live in Berkeley—what the hell were you expecting?) Go out, have fun, no worries. If only it was that easy with Ben.

I had a great feeling about this share and was excited to start it. I REALLY like the other families and Anna, the caregiver, seemed great. But yesterday was an eye opener. Anna had three children (2 14-month olds and 6-month old Ben) and Ben got the short end of the stick. When I came to pick him up after 3 hours he was screaming as I stood outside waiting for someone to come to the door. I could hear him and I never wanted to break down a door so much. And just because he was crying. It was not a SAVE ME SOMEONE IS TRYING TO KILL ME cry, but rather a I AM UNHAPPY AT THIS MOMENT cry. But still.

So once I got inside it was clear that Ben was at the bottom on the totem pole of priorities. For those of you who have toddlers you will appreciate that they MUST BE WATCHED AT ALL TIMES and that they are MOBILE. Those of us with infants are still in the 'put them down and come back and they are still in the same place' mode. And loving it. But since Ben is stationary he was also clearly shoved off to the side. He had a tear stained face and crying boogers in his nose. This was my daycare nightmare come true. Needless to say that this sent me into a full-blown whatthefuckamigoingtodoicanneverleavethehouse panic attack. Which then sent me scurrying to make many phone calls in an attempt to remedy the situation as well as a knee-jerk decision to change careers quickly (this will not be happening). Hopefully we will be switching the infants to their own two days. But for now I am sleepless. In Berkeley. Hence the title.

So if you're up, call me. I am up too.

What's Done Is Done

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bb_w_camera.jpg Well I did it. I sent in my check for my 20th high school reunion. There's no turning back. The above picture is of me a few years ago when I had time to take care of myself and exercise. If I still looked like that I would feel great about going to the reunion. Hint: after a baby and no time to exercise I don't look that good anymore. I will just have to trust that people will see beyond my appearance and well...they won't. So I just have to get really drunk and try not to give a shit as I enter what Laurie Notaro calls the "wicked, unforgiving terrain of nostalgia". And besides, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.